The Quickest Way to Their Hearts
by redrosemary
Summary: Chef Ellie, the Inquisitor's personal cook, can tell what mood Lady Evie is in, and how to soften it with sweets—cake, cookies, rolls, pies, cheese, chocolates, teas, coffee. But what if Lady Evie is in love with her Commander? Will food be the quickest way to their hearts? A story of friendship and a different kind of sweet TrevelyanxCullen.
1. Sweet Tooth

A/N: Apart from my OC, Chef Ellie, I've made up a nice new room in Skyhold, a kitchen with a pantry. Because my Lady Trevelyan loves to eat, what can I do?

* * *

I owe the Inquisitor my life, but then again, here in Skyhold, who doesn't? I'm truly grateful, of course, but not being a gifted mage, a talented warrior, a clever spy, or a melodious bard, I've had to find another way of expressing gratitude and staying useful. Me being talented in the kitchen then, I applied to be a cook in the Inquisition. And then it goes.

It's quite simple. Ever since she got declared Herald of Andraste back in Haven, Lady Evelyn Trevelyan has taken a mug or two of sweetened black coffee, and whatever it is we're feeding everyone else for breakfast, together with everyone else. But then she becomes Inquisitor, the boss of all bosses, and though she continues to eat her main meals with everyone in the mess hall, she gets a nice new perk.

A small pantry near her suite, with a kitchen Orlesian nobles would kill for. And me as her personal chef. Seems that she had a word with someone up there, or that the other bosses—Lady Leliana, Lady Josephine, Lady Cassandra, and Commander Cullen—finally noticed her one true passion and decided she has earned it. Poof! I'm out of the mess hall kitchens, and now, whenever she's home, I cook desserts exclusively for her.

All it takes is one look, and I usually can tell if Inquisitor Trevelyan is in the mood for Fereldan rolls (a very simple roll with special cheese sticks inside), an Orlesian butter cookie (Orlesian food has three secrets: butter, butter, and more butter), an Ostwick pastry (a fruitcake with generous helpings of raisins), Antivan black forest cake (chocolate cake with a dash of wine) or, if she's really sad, a Tevinter blood cake (velvety cake dyed deep red) complete with cream cheese frosting (the cheese from Ferelden, of course). She's also quite predictable in her drinks: when her brows are furrowed in thought, a cup of black Nevarran tea is helpful; when she has just arrived from some mission, an iced Antivan pineapple juice; when she's in the mood for bread rolls, some hot chocolate from cocoa beans we plant in the slopes. Hah! I didn't even need Sera or the Spymaster to tell me this. Makes me proud.

Gotta say though, half my workload gets disappears when she's off somewhere. Not that I'm complaining. But now she's here, well, somebody gotta make Skyhold functional and comfortable, right? And that's no easy task.

"Good afternoon, milady, Inquisitor," I greet her when she opens the kitchen door. I note her slumped shoulders, remember that she's been running around Skyhold for a while now, and offer her some—"pastry roll with the cheese that King Alistair sent? And some fruity tea?"

The Inquisitor smiles. "You always know how to perk me up, Chef Ellie. Fill me in!"

I arrange her pastries and tea in a tray. To look fancier—a lesson from Imperial kitchens—I add a sprig of cinnamon. Feels good to be her personal chef, sometimes.

"Goodness, Ellie, you know exactly how I want my snacks," she says, to my great delight. "I don't even have to enchant my taste buds in order to eat this. Not unlike the nightmare in Redcliffe. Their tavern food is plain awful, I'm surprised they're still open."

She continues eating. I remember the time after she came from Redcliffe, when she ate an entire Tevinter blood cake on her own, as if the cake could drown her sorrows. It's nice that she has put that entire Redcliffe nightmare behind her now.

"Any gossip?" she asks.

"Ach, my lady, if you want gossip, the bartender has more. I just cook, I don't serve."

"Good point! But you know, Chef Ellie, I'm not an ale person. Makes me fat but without the creamy goodness of sugar and butter."

I give a short chuckle. Without that exercise she must be getting from beating all the bad guys, she'd be a right fat kid. Maybe Harritt is getting his hands full in adjusting her robes and armor all the time.

She finishes her meal. I take her plate and anticipate her usual "Thanks Chef!" when instead I hear,

"Chef Ellie, do you think Commander Cullen prefers chocolate or cheese?"

"I'm sorry, milady?" I ask. Totally unexpected, that one. She's never asked me to serve others, not that I won't do it if she asks.

"I know that Bull prefers greasy stuff that goes with ale, and Dorian and Varric probably something similar, and Vivienne and Josephine likes everything fancy but Sera does not, Blackwall doesn't like anything really, and Cassandra has a secret sweet tooth," the Inquisitor tallies. "Solas, too, doesn't like anything, but Cole likes everything. And no point sweetening up Leliana." She looks at me. "What? _You_ know what to serve _me_ every time. I think I have the same talent!"

I suppress a guffaw. "So why haven't you observed what Commander Cullen likes?" I ask her.

The Inquisitor blushes immensely. I get my answer.

"Well," I say slowly, calculating what the man might like, "Since the Commander's Fereldan, and their King Alistair loves cheese, maybe he likes cheese too?" Soldiers, templars in particular, aren't really picky about their food. Unless they're high ranking chevaliers, they eat whatever is served in the mess hall.

"Oh," she says, a little disappointed. "Well, can you be a dear and pack me a box of these cheesy pastries? Make sure the box is fancy and stuff? And add a jug of this divine fruity tea while you're at it."

Dear Maker, her blush is priceless. Like a fat kid with a crush, except that she isn't really a fat kid. She's a talented mage who's just slightly chubby. And quite dangerous with her staff, and without. I'm always glad me and my sweets are on her good side.

"Certainly, milady. Should I make greasy stuff for Bull, Dorian, Varric, and the—"

"That won't be necessary," she says. "Not until Satinalia anyway. I don't want to share your dessert skills with them!"

"Oh, I see," and I dare myself to tease her. "So you and the Commander—"

"Not a word to anyone," she gasps, eyes wide with horror. "I'll have you banished in the cold Frostbacks with no food ever! Even if that means that I will have to live without your goodies thereafter."


	2. Ice Breaker

Sometimes Inquisitor Trevelyan has clever food ideas of her own, too. One fine day she appears in the kitchen, slightly out of breath, and holds out her hand, where some ice materializes.

"I've the most wonderful dream, Chef," she says excitedly. "Get me a cup, a bowl, your biggest one, quick! And prepare that divine chocolate you make in the afternoons. And some heavy cream, the ones I ordered from Val Royeaux yesterday."

It's just slightly after lunchtime, and when she's here in Skyhold she would be training with Commander Helaine or the other mages at this time. I wouldn't expect her until late afternoon, when she enjoys either some iced pineapple juice (after training with Commander Helaine) or hot chocolate (after mage-y stuff with Enchanter Fiona or the other mages). So it somewhat wounds me that I did not predict her accurately today.

I take the stuff she asks for from the cupboards, and she busies herself. "Milady—" I'm her _servant_, I should be doing that—

"No, Ellie, lemme do it this time," she says excitedly. She conjures ice flakes in the bowl, melts the chocolate, adds it to the ice, and then pours the cream on her mixture. She blends the mixture with her magic, and then pours it on two glasses she takes from the cupboards.

"For you, Ellie." She hands me one glass and takes the other one. "To magic and good food! To friendship!"

I take a sip when she does, and oh boy, was this concoction divine.

Whoever said that magic is evil must definitely try this—what's it called?

"I think I'll call this one 'Chocolate Milk Shake,' considering we just mixed milk and chocolate to ice." She sounds so proud. Rightly so, too.

"Very wonderful, milady," I say. Mmm, if she gets tired of Inquisitorialing, I might find competition in the culinary world.

"We've been friends since Haven, Ellie," she says. "You can call me Evie. Maker knows how tongue twisting the entire title is."

"I can't presume, milady," I say, humbled, "seeing you're the Inquisitor and all."

"And you're my favorite cook, and really consider you to be my friend" she answers. "Very well, if it makes you happy, make it 'Lady Evie" or something."

"Okay, Evie, Lady Evie."

We continue enjoying her chocolate milk shake. And then it's time for her to go.

"Can you prepare a big stack of butter cookies and other goods that can last for weeks?" she asks. I know she must be going to some field work tomorrow. " And pack some tea leaves too, the spicy ones and the black ones. And maybe, some Tevinter velvet cake too, can you make those bloody things again?"

"Certainly, Lady Evie," I answer.

I begin baking her sweets as soon as she leaves the kitchen. So nice to be appreciated!

Days pass, and Lady Evie does not return. That's normal. Times like this, I help around in the main kitchen and the tavern. It takes a lot of work to keep Skyhold functional, let me tell you. From the humblest of servants and cooks, to the agents and soldiers and researchers, to the upper muckety mucks, we all work our asses off.

So I was quite surprised when one day, the Commander himself enters the tavern kitchen, looking for me.

"Chef… Ellie, right?" he asks. "If you have a moment. Please report to my office."

I finish washing some plates, wipe my hands on my apron, and hang that apron on a peg. Rina, another cook, tells me that she will manage the kitchen work for a couple of hours alone.

I never thought I would be summoned by the Commander. Sure, I used to fantasize getting a promotion, like being an agent for the Ambassador or the Spymaster, but that was before I became the Lady Evie's personal chef. I begin to panic inwardly, _what if she wants to replace me_, and the only other opening for a cook is in the field, or worse, none at all?

"Have a seat," he says. "Tea, Chef?" I nod, and he pours tea for the two of us.

"So, you're the Inquisitor's personal chef, right? It's alright, you can relax."

Whew. Perhaps I'm not getting the sack after all.

"Yes, ser." I answer. He may be jovial, but I'm still confused as to what this is.

And then it _dawns_ on me.

He likes Her Inquisitorial Sweet Toothiness. Oh goodness, is this delicious!

I must have a big goofy smile on my face right now, because he suddenly loses composure for a moment.

And then he straightens up. My, my. I can see what Lady Evie likes about him. Nice build, hair perfectly done—not too well done, but not downright messy—that scar on his face accentuating his strong jaw, and adds a touch of danger to his entire mien. A nice, strong templar to contrast her sweet magey-ness. Not bad, Lady Evie, not bad at all.

"She likes cookies, and tea, and cake, ser," I say. I must be getting good at this reading-people thing. "But not always. There are days when she likes cookies, and days she detests them. And tea. And cakes. And sometimes, steaks and pudding. But there are days when all she can eat are those. I've learned to keep track of it."

"Am I that predictable," the Commander chuckles. "Very well." He clears his throat, and uses his Commander voice again. "What does the Inquisitor prefer after returning to Skyhold? Cheese rolls, perhaps?"

"Depends on what time she arrives, ser, and if she's smiling or frowning," I answer. "If she's smiling and it's midmorning to early afternoon, those cheese rolls and sweetened coffee. If it's midafternoon to evening, she takes hot cocoa with her pastries. If she's frowning, then the red cake with the cheese frosting, and maybe some tea or fruit juice. But if she's all so very exhausted, no matter the time, then, simply, two butter cookies, very little sugar, and jasmine tea. Helps her relax, you see."

"Maker, that's a lot," he says. "Can you prepare all those day after tomorrow in midmorning? She's scheduled to arrive then, but she might meet some delays, or something might come up, so she might be a little late. Or maybe she would be sad, or happy, I don't know." He begins to stammer again.

Funny how he doesn't mention cheese rolls again. Maybe he doesn't want me to know that Lady Evie sent him those rolls—rolls that _I_ made. Oh goodness, this secretly-in-love business is so amusing!

And then I have an idea.

"By your leave, Commander," I say, and he gestures me to continue. "She made her own dessert once, ser, and it was delicious. She used magic, but I've thought about making it without magic, ser."

"Magic?"

"Mainly in the conjuring of ice, ser. Creamy chocolate blended smoothly with ice. I think she will enjoy that, but we change the cream and chocolate with fruit and some sugar. She blended her ingredients with magic, but I think I can do that without magic. I've been practicing, so that I can add that to her menu. We can use strawberries and oranges, she likes those. I believe Lady Montilyet has had a new shipment of fresh fruit from Orlais, we can take advantage of that. Ser."

"Very well," he says. "I'll have one of the mages conjure how much of that ice, and have someone bring you those fruits tomorrow. Please prepare them, and cake or cookies, whatever you think is proper, so that upon her return she can eat to her heart's content. We owe her that much. That is all." Back to his Commander voice.

I turn to leave, and it's uncanny how his parting words are like Lady Evie's—

"Not a word to anyone, Chef Ellie, understood?"

At least he doesn't threaten to throw me out to a cold, wintry death without food.

* * *

_A/N: Lady Evie and Chef Ellie are giving Tevinter velvet cupcakes to **AgapeErosPhilia**, and Orlesian butter cookies for **KC Pendragon** and **Dekicobee**!_


	3. Families and Recipes

"Ellie, can you make a small Tevinter velvet cake? With the cheese frosting? Put it in a nice box."

Lady Evie's head pokes out of the kitchen door. It's a little after seven in the morning, and she's just had breakfast.

"And no, it's not for me. So make it fancier than usual." She doesn't enter the kitchen. "I won't be having afternoon tea here, Chef, so can you please pack some cookies and that Nevarran tea? We're off to Redcliffe after lunch, so please have it ready by then."

"As you desire, Lady Evie," I answer.

Tevinter velvet cake. Easy enough to make. But for whom? Lately she's just been asking for lightly flavored breads that she shares with Commander Cullen. He doesn't seem to appreciate cakes like Her Inquisitorial Sweet Toothiness, though he's rather fond of cheese, like a typical Fereldan.

Also, Lady Evie eats Tevinter velvet cake only when she's really sad, but there's no hint of her being sad today.

Ah, whatever, I don't have time to dwell on who eats the cake. If she wants it, she'll have it, so I whip it up real quick—that Dwarven arcanist Dagna sure knows how to make a nice oven—and it's all done a little after midmorning.

I pack her foodstuffs in specially enchanted containers, and venture outside to look for her.

"If you're looking for the Inquisitor, she's up there with Dorian," Varric volunteers upon seeing me and my pack. "My, Cheffie, Her Inquisitorialness's snack pack looks bigger than usual today."

"I think she means to share today, Ser Varric," I answer. "Did you order some Tevinter velvet?"

"Maker, no!" Varric exclaims. "I can't stand all that sweet stuff. I don't even know why Evie likes sweets. 'Sides, I'm not coming with her today."

"Really? Who'll come with her then?"

"Sparkler, the Seeker, maybe Buttercup too," he tallies.

"There you are, Ellie." Varric and I turn to see Lady Evie and Ser Dorian. I take her travel bag and place her food there.

"How quaint, Lady Trevelyan," Dorian says dramatically. "A typical Fereldan picnic! What's next, shoe shopping in the slums of Denerim?"

"Oh, hush, Dorian, don't Lady-Trevelyan me," she answers playfully, and punches him on the shoulder. "We both know we're soul sisters."

* * *

It's past dinnertime now. I head to the Commander's tower with some pastries and a jug of chamomile tea. Lady Evie likes spending some alone-time with a certain ex-templar there before bedtime. Sometimes they discuss official Inquisitorial-ey stuff, sometimes they laugh and play chess, I don't know really, I don't eavesdrop like the other servants. I just deliver their tea.

"Chef Ellie," Commander Cullen greets me.

He glances at the tea tray with the pastries, and chuckles.

"Oh, so your mistress won't stop until I'm plump as a hen, you think?"

That's priceless, not many of us see him merry. He's cute when he blushes, too. Just like Lady Evie.

"Commander!" I gasp. "How ungrateful of you. What does milady think?"

"Oh, I'm confident you wouldn't tell her that, Chef, otherwise it's off to the Frostbacks for you. Speaking of which, have you seen your mistress?"

"She isn't there with you, ser?" I ask, and it's just then that I realize that he's alone in his tower.

"No, and she didn't come here tonight either," he says." Are you sure she's not in the kitchen with your cookies?"

I shake my head. Seems like he's been expecting her. That would've been cute, really, but for the slightest displeasure in his voice.

"If you see her tonight, Chef," he says in a dejected puppy voice. "Ah, never mind." Aww, he reverts to his Commander-ey voice.

The Commander gets the tray, and I take my leave. I head back to the main hall to look for Lady Evie. I check all the usual spots—from the basement library to the rookery. I even knock on her bedroom door. Finally, I decide to go back to the kitchen and close up shop.

I open the door, and Lady Evie is in there, sitting at the table. The entire place is unnaturally dark, and the only source of light are the flames dancing in her hand, changing shape and color swiftly.

Sometimes I forget what an astonishing mage she is.

I register her weary face and wan composure, despite the dark.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were there, Ellie," she says. She snaps her fingers, and the chandelier cackles with its usual brightness. "I'm sorry. I know it's late, and you must want to clean up. I did that already."

"Milady, you shouldn't have," I say softly. "That's my duty."

"No," she says absently. "My mother wouldn't want me to go to the kitchens and clean. Or organize things. Or help the servants out. My mother didn't like lots of things."

This is the first time I have seen Lady Evelyn Trevelyan, mighty mage, Herald and Inquisitor, looking so defeated. And for once, I think she isn't in the kitchen for food.

"You can tell me anything, Lady Evie," I say tentatively. "We're friends, remember?"

"Dorian met his father today," Lady Evie begins. She's playing with a dessert fork, staring intently at the table. "He didn't know his father was in Redcliffe, but I knew. Because I asked Leliana's spies to check out the tavern before proceeding. That's why I asked for some velvet cake, Ellie, I figured Tevinters like that, and maybe it'd help Dorian and his father to talk. Talk things over with food. That kind of thing.

"I asked Cassandra and Sera to come with us today just in case things went south. Thank the Maker it didn't. Seems like Dorian and his father reconciled, or at least, they ate the cake together. The girls and I shared cookies on the tavern steps. It was dark when Dorian finally came out, and he bid his father goodbye. And then we went home, here, in Skyhold.

"But then I remembered my mother. Or rather, I thought about how I don't remember her face anymore. Just vague details, like a chubby hand with a huge emerald ring, thick, graying hair. I was off to the Chantry soon, you know. And I wasn't sad, really, not like the other kids who cried at night for their mother. My noble status still assured me of a comfortable life, even as a mage. "

This is the first time I hear Lady Evie talk about her personal life. I am speechless.

"I liked the Ostwick Circle," she continues. "Everyone was nice, the templars and the mages. But the food wasn't. That's the only thing I disliked. And that's where I learned how to enchant my tastebuds, make it numb to food I didn't like. But my mother brought me food, sometimes. She's the only one who thought that food in the Circle isn't as good as home-cooked meals. She brought me croissants, strawberry jam, steaks, pies. And sometimes she'd send the servants, too. They brought me news of home.

"The last time I saw any of my family was shortly before the mage rebellion. We weren't worried about any danger. Ostwick's always been laidback on many things. But one night, someone tried to stab me. I never found out if it was a templar and their sword, or a mage with a dagger. I panicked, and I fled. Then I realized that the mage-templar war was so bad outside Ostwick. I decided I was safest in Haven, with the Conclave going on, if I just blend in with the rest of the mages. But Temple exploded. Together with my old life."

We sit there, in silence. I watch her as she summons the teapot and reheats it with her magic. She pours some, still using her arcane power, brows knitted together.

"Ah, stale tea is never good," she says, finally breaking the silence. And suddenly she's all bright and bubbly again. "Don't drink that, Ellie. Never drink stale tea, unless it's from an enchanted cup. Seals the flavors, you see. Anyway, I'm so sorry I burdened you tonight, it won't—"

I hug her. It seems like the best thing to do, and tonight, we're not servant and mistress. Tonight, I'm her sister, willing to give her a hug , some tea, or a listening ear, whatever she needs.

And she hugs me back.

"Thank you, Ellie."

I resolve to learn how to make croissants, seeing as that's the only food she's mentioned that I don't properly know how to make. Rina, the tavern cook, probably knows more about those. I might even ask Ser Cullen, or maybe Lady Josephine, about her family, and hopefully get a recipe of that strawberry jam.

* * *

A/N: Bit serious, this chapter. Not everything Lady Evie eats is sweet, even if that's what Chef Ellie cooks best. But I'll have something sweet for next chapter!

Chef Ellie and Lady Evie send their love and a Tevinter velvet cake to **Mandimal** and **AgapeErosPhilia**, as well as some chocolate milkshakes to **Temril6895**, **xenocanaan**, and **Sylanc**! Reviews, follows and favorites are awesome!


	4. Sweet Escape

Lady Evie is off to Crestwood, together with her illustrious guest, Anna Hawke. If half of what I hear about Anna Hawke is right—that she sleeps with the rebel mage who started the war, she ate a dragon's heart for dinner once, or she beheaded the Qunari Arishok with a snap of her manicured magical fingers—then she's a downright mess, alright. I wonder what she does to unwind. Does she comfort-eat like Lady Evie, or does she take out her insanities through other means? What if she gets Lady Evie into more trouble?

Bah, Lady Evie can take care of herself. I mustn't allow myself to think otherwise. Besides, I don't think she'll come to any serious harm, not when Seeker Cassandra and the others are taking such good care of her. Heh, Commander Cullen might throw a fit if Lady Evie so much as gets a scratch.

I return to my duties. Whenever Lady Evie's away, I help in the main kitchens preparing food for everyone else. I also have to help Rina in the tavern later, as compensation for teaching me how to fold dough properly to crescents. She must be having a good laugh, too, for teaching the "best cook" in the Inquisition something as simple as croissants.

Lady Evie has asked me to make sure that whenever she's not around, Commander Cullen eats his meals regularly, even if I have to serve him breakfast, lunch and dinner in his office. Because that man tends to forget himself, I get to do that very often.

One night the Commander asks me, "What do you think Evie would like to do, assuming she agrees to go out with me?"

I'm pretty sure the Commander has said it in his most authoritarian tone, but there's also no mistake in his immense blush.

"Oh," I stammer. I haven't really thought about what Lady Evie would like in a date. That'd be just plain weird.

"Well, Chef?" he asks again. "Anything that comes to mind? Or would she prefer we just sit down, eat, and talk?"

"A picnic's not a bad idea," I answer. I don't know what else to tell him, honestly. I'm not in the business of dispensing dating advice. Ser Varric's the expert on stuff like that, if you ask me. "Maybe, ask her to conjure some ice and make a milkshake?"

He hands me a piece of paper, written in a spidery script. By the Maker—

It's Lady Evie's mother's strawberry jam recipe! It has to be!

"Lady Josephine said that you asked about her family's recipes," the Commander explains. As if he needs to explain anything to a mere servant, but this is amusing. He rubs the base of his neck. "The Trevelyan family is pleased, of course, pleased with what Lady Evelyn is doing, but, ah…"

I really have got to work on suppressing my guffaws. Particularly because Commander Cullen and I are not really friends. But is it my fault that he blushes like crazy whenever he's talking about Lady Evie?

"I'm sure you'll find the necessary ingredients easily, Chef," he says in his big Commander voice. "Please bring me a sample of this jam as soon as you can. And if it's properly done, I'll ask for a jar or two of it, to be ready four days from now. As well as some fresh croissant. Put them—" he stammers, how adorable!—"put them in a sealed basket, like the ones you use for Lady Evie's long journeys. And then pack enough food for maybe a week."

It's a lot of work to keep my face straight. And not because I'm grumpy for receiving more work.

"Ser?" I have to ask this, and I swear I'm not a gossipy maid. "Where would you need the goods? So I can ask the mages for the proper enchantments."

"A small village in Ferelden. Honnleath. Oh, and please don't tell anybody about the strawberry jam… business. Not even her. Uh… If you'll excuse me, Chef."

I take my leave, and as soon as I'm out of earshot, laugh like crazy.

* * *

It's not easy to hide a secret from Lady Evie. Gah, I find it hard to keep secrets, period. Maybe that's why the Spymaster has decided not to make me one of her agents—I don't do poker face at all, even if I can read most people accurately. Thank goodness Lady Evie's occupied with whatever it is that she's accomplishing at the moment—waiting for something from Anna Hawke, I think. Between that and her training as knight enchanter, Lady Evie barely finds time to visit my kitchen anymore.

Which is perfect. I think I make a passable enough strawberry jam fit for a Trevelyan, so I send it to Commander Cullen. He thinks it's perfect too, and something from his unusually bubbly demeanor tells me that Lady Evie has agreed to come with him on his little picnic.

On the appointed day, I sneak outside the kitchen with the basket of goodies he has asked for, and prayed to the Maker, the elven gods, even the Old Gods, that Lady Evie would not catch me. That'd be awkward, and it would spoil the surprise I know the Commander has exerted a lot of effort on. I bet my ass he's made sure that the Inquisition would still run well even if Lady Evie and he were gone for a short while.

"Very good, Chef," he commends me when I present the basket to him. Of course I'm good, that's why I'm Lady Evie's personal cook! "But I need another favor."

Dear Maker, I should be getting a bonus for each of Commander Cullen's requests. I could start my own café then.

"Can you please pack a hooded cloak and boots for Lady Trevelyan?"

"Uh," I don't know how to mention the obvious, but—"I'm her cook, uh, not her handmaid. I don't have permission to enter her room, ser."

"Oh," he says, as if considering this for the first time. "Oh. I guess I'll have to find those for myself then…"

"If there's anything else, ser?" I ask. I still have to report in the main kitchens.

"I suppose you might as well know, Chef," he says with a chuckle and a loving gaze at the basket. "You know when you were appointed the Inquisitor's personal chef? We thought—the Ambassador, the Spymaster, the Seeker and me—that Evie might need a personal assistant. Someone to do all her bidding, attend to her at all times. Someone trustworthy and capable. Cassandra recommended a squire, to carry her things and all that, but mages don't really need squires. Josephine thought about a handmaid, but it's the height of impracticality for her to wear corsets and dresses. So Leliana suggested we give her a shadow, someone who'd watch her every move and cater to her every whim. We all thought that was creepy. Finally, I suggested getting her a cook instead, the best in the Inquisition. I've always noticed how fond she is of food. The way she eats when she's sad or happy. And so here you are, Chef Ellie, giving her small comforts in the form of cookies and cakes…"

He smiles at the memory.

"I didn't know that, ser," I answer, but he doesn't seem to hear me. That man must be so in love with Lady Evie. He sees what most others do not: that Lady Evie is still human, that she has wants and needs too, that she suffers too, like everybody else. And he's figured out how to help her cope with the insanities of being Herald, and now, Inquisitor.

"Of course, this is all confidential, yes, Chef?" he asks me in his big voice. Of course I won't tell that he's so in love with our slightly chubby Inquisitor. Everyone else sees it.

* * *

**A/N:** I know that Cullen and the Inquisitor kiss at the battlements before they go to their Ferelden date, but I invoke creative license! I'll have something extra for that kiss in the battlements and the oblivious agent who disrupts them. Maybe Commander Cullen would get back at that agent by depriving him of dessert?

I've uploaded two chapters today, because I might not be able to write or upload for the next coming days. Exam week is almost upon us, and as much as Ellie and Evie wanna play, duty calls. Thanks for all the encouraging PMs, reviews, favorites and follows! Lady Evie and Chef Ellie would like to send some cookies to **rainbowzebra215.**


	5. Leftovers

"So how was your date, milady?" I ask while Lady Evie's taking her midmorning coffee and sweet rolls.

"Date?" She sounds surprised. She's unusually focused on her food today.

"You know, with Commander Adorably Awkward."

"Oh," she says. "It was… nice. But apparently, when people are married to their jobs, and they go out with other people, it feels weird. Like being the 'other woman' or some such Orlesian nonsense."

Now that was odd. Well, I should have suspected something, at least. Two days after Commander Cullen and Lady Evie went to Ferelden, a messenger arrived calling Seeker Cassandra, the Iron Bull, and Sera to Redcliffe. The day after, the Commander returned alone, and it took a while before Lady Evie arrived home with her companions. Since then, I haven't had to take tea and sweet rolls to the Commander's tower during the evenings. But I did have to bake goodies for her companions, with a note of thanks about helping her slay a dragon.

And Lady Evie's starting to eat more than usual. Well, I won't usually worry until she eats an entire Tevinter velvet cake, but since Honnleath she's eaten more and said less. To me, anyway.

"Thanks for the sweet rolls and brewed coffee, Ellie." She stands up and heads out the door. "Won't you be a dear and serve some tea later in the war room, two bells after lunch? I can't possibly talk about Orlesian politics without something robust."

"Arl Grey, then, or cinnamon spice?"

"You decide, Ellie, and have some pastries too," she shouts from the hallway.

Hmm. Yesterday a shipment of cinnamon and apples arrived, and because Lady Evie is special, her kitchen gets the finest pick. Not that the rest of the food is bad—they're not—but I think Skyhold owes a far greater debt to her than food. So might as well use them.

It takes a while, but I manage, and then I arrange the foodstuffs on a cart just in time. The tea has to be kept in an enchanted pot, and the pastries have to be served on very fancy plates, because Ambassador Josephine insists. Well, she doesn't, but she has that look that tells us servants to put everything on pretty plates. So there, all ready to be served to the big bosses of the Inquisition.

"…Winter Palace? I have to do some shopping," I hear Lady Evie's voice.

Wow, those war meetings really got the bosses raising voices, huh? And brings out Lady Evie's most sarcastic. No wonder she has asked for some food to distract her.

"You don't need to shop." That's the Ambassador's voice. "We have tailors for that. But you do need a lady's maid…"

"I don't see how bringing a personal attendant can help Lady Trevelyan stop Corypheus, Ambassador, if it makes her feel that uncomfortable. Our best agents will be joining, as well as her companions." Ser Cullen's voice joins the fray.

"It's not about swords all the time, Commander, it's the Orlesian court. Appearances are paramount. I have thought that with Lady Trevelyan's upbringing, she'd be more open minded about it."

"Josie, this is ridiculous," Lady Evie says.

Okay, enough eavesdropping. I knock, get my permission to enter. I dare not look any of them, and just proceed to put the tea and pastries on a separate table on another part of the room.

"Who told you that you can bring food here, Inquisitor?" the Ambassador asks.

"I don't wanna deal with nobles," Lady Evie answers, as she leaves the war table and heads for the food. She takes a pastry and shoves it in her mouth, uncharacteristically uncouth. I give a slight bow, and head out the door.

"Why can't our spies infiltrate the Palace, take out the assassin, and be done with it, or send a very official letter to them?" she demands. "With my Inquisitorial seal and everything? Tell me, why haven't we succeeded diplomatically or stealthily?"

"We already told you," the Spymaster says in her melodious voice, "someone on the other side is blocking all our efforts."

Whew, that's the first time I've heard Lady Evie so agitated; she usually doesn't even have tea or coffee served during war meetings. And I'm not entirely sure what she'll want later, but it won't hurt to prepare her ultimate comfort food, Tevinter velvet, dyed the deepest of blood red, with cream cheese frosting. I better start baking, the frosting's very tough work.

Later, Lady Evie does not come to my kitchen for her afternoon tea, which is rather surprising. I also hear from the kitchen staff that she has skipped dinner as well, and this has me alarmed. The small frosted cake stands in the middle of the table, proud as any queen, but my lady is not here to enjoy it.

Someone creaks open the door, but I still have to finish washing the last of the kitchen equipment I've used.

"Milady, I heard you haven't had dinner yet," I say, still not turning. "I hope you're in the mood for some Tevinter velvet, I made it especially for you."

"Actually," a distinctly male voice answers, "I'm looking for your mistress. And what's this news about her skipping dinner?"

"Ser Cullen!" I turn and give a small bow. "Lady Evie is not with you, ser?"

"Obviously not," he says with a chuckle. "I was hoping to catch her in her comfort zone. Though now _you're_ here, you might as well know, Ellie. You're coming with us to Halamshiral. She needs a lady's maid, for appearances, as the Ambassador and the Spymaster insist. Evie didn't want one, and as neither parties were willing to stand down, so I offered a compromise. You. As her maid."

"I'm a cook, not a maid, ser." Again, with pointing the obvious.

"We've talked about that," he tells me. "You'll receive instruction from Leliana's people. Besides, some of our agents will also come with us. You're just going to be Evie's, uh, support person."

He takes a look at the kitchen, and spots the cake. "I rather thought she was very fond of those."

"It's not the first time she refused to eat, ser," I say. "When she's terribly upset, she either eats that cake or she doesn't eat at all."

"What do you do, Chef," he asks, losing his boss-voice, "if she doesn't eat what you cook? What happens to the food?"

"The leftovers, ser?" Hmm. How do I answer this? She doesn't often leave food, but when she does, she's polite enough to use a serving utensil to slice the portion she'd eat. And any of her leftovers can go to us servants, if we'd take it. And we often do, because it's too wasteful otherwise.

The Commander sits down at the table, and instinctively I whip out a teacup and pours Lady Evie's nighttime tea for him. He looks so forlorn, I just have to offer him cake.

He takes a bite. My curiosity gets unbearable, so I venture to ask the unaskable—

"Ser, what happened in Honnleath?"

He swallows and stares at the table, much like Lady Evie did during the night she told me about her mother.

"I thought it went rather well," he sighs, "but when I served her croissants with strawberry jam, she became suddenly distant. It was like she saw a ghost. She ate it to be polite, but was cold for the rest of the trip. Later, an agent caught up with us, and told her of some problem near Redcliffe. Something about a dragon terrorizing the Hinterlands. So she summoned her toughest warriors and went there. I'm rather surprised that she didn't tell you of that."

"She did tell me, ser, about the dragon," I answer. "She had a celebratory cake sent to her companions that day. But about your trip? She just said that it's tough to go out with someone married to the job. She said something about feeling like the other woman."

Suddenly, Cole appears at the kitchen.

"Maker!" I gasp.

"Dizzy, world spinning, my lady mother why did you leave me, sweetheart, I don't like strawberry jam, it reminds me of my mamma, where are you? Maker my world is spinning wildly beyond my control, I don't wanna wear corsets and dresses, cake makes me fat but I really like eating. I don't want the leftovers of his heart, like my mother gave me scraps of her time, Maker my world can't stop spinning. _She is hurting_."

And then he's gone. That… spirit kid is totally weird.

The Commander stands up, a man whose questions have been fully answered. Also a man looking hurt by what he just heard, but determined to find his sweetheart nonetheless.

"Come with me, Chef, I know exactly where Evie is."

I follow him to the tavern, where true enough, Lady Evie is. Head on the table, shoulders slumped, thick black hair all over.

"Hey, Cullen, Cheffie," the Iron Bull greets us. "Apology's in order. That's my fault," he points at Lady Evie. "Didn't know she can't hold her alcohol. We were just celebrating the dragon slaying near Redcliffe. But she got weird, and downed the tankard without talking. She tried to take a second, but that happened. I didn't know what to do."

"It's alright," Ser Cullen answers, "I'll take care of it. Just… make sure that people won't talk about this."

"Sure, boss," the Bull promises.

Ser Cullen takes a very drunk, almost passed-out Lady Evie into his arms. I lead him out the back door, and into the servants' entrance towards her suite in Skyhold, to at least lessen prying eyes. But I know they're there.

"Cullen?" Lady Evie asks, then hiccups, as we reach her suite.

"Shhh, Evie," he whispers, and kisses her forehead. "You'll have my full attention from now on."

I turn away politely, but I could still hear him whispering sweet words as he lays her on her bed.

"Ellie," he calls me in his big Commander voice. "Make sure she doesn't sleep in her armor and boots. Allow her to sleep til midday tomorrow, then give her a lot of water and your strongest coffee. I'll have the war meeting postponed."

I'm just glad that Ser Cullen's here to help whatever's left of Lady Evie by now.

* * *

A/N: I'm taking a lot of liberties with the story—it's more fun that way, don't you think? Also, happy Valentines, to those who are inclined to celebrate! :)

I really appreciate the follows, favorites, reviews, and encouraging PMs. A great many thanks to **AgapeErosPhilia**,** Cynder Jenn, JayRain, Loverofallfiction, **and the wonderful Facebook group of **Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers**, from whence came the "Arl Grey" idea. You guys are awesome!


	6. Sans Rival

"Maker, that was embarrassing."

It's past midmorning, almost lunchtime even, but Lady Evie's sitting in her bedroom table in her nightgown, her hair all over the place, sipping a huge mug of my strongest coffee: Dragon's Brew.

"Well, Lady Evie," I say in an attempt to make her laugh, "how'd you like your fat old cook dressed up like a proper lady's maid?"

"You're neither fat nor old, Ellie," Lady Evie answers. Well, at least now she's smiling. And I really am dressed today like a lady's maid, following the instructions of the big bosses to start acting like one.

"Maker. I've always hated dealing with nobles," she mumbles. "Now, there's no running from it. And you will accompany me, Ellie."

"Let me guess, you need me to educate the royal chefs on the secrets to great Inquisitorial cookies?" I ask.

"More like, we both need to stand around and look pretty." She sighs again, and switches topics. "How can I face Cullen again after yesterday?"

"It's easy, milady," I answer, "just tell him you wanna waltz with him at the fancy schmancy ball. Don't people dance and sip pink champagne in such places?"

"He carried me to my room, Ellie! And when I awoke, I was in my nightgown already."

"He _carried_ you. I _helped_ _you dress_, after he went out. And I was there all along. Don't you remember?"

"Ugh, Maker, no." She hides her face in her palms. "What will Cullen think of me now? And the rest of the Inquisition…"

I slam my fist on the table, and the mug rattles. There's a lot I wanna tell her. About how he cares for her, but their jobs get in the way, and she shouldn't blame him or herself for it. Well, she can blame Corypheus. Or that she should probably invite Ser Cullen for evening tea again, and not avoid him without giving him a reason. But that won't really help right now. Right now, we need the Inquisitor up and running. Halamshiral is weeks away. Not to mention that the Inquisition is facing a gazillion other problems as well: Anna Hawke is not yet back, the Chantry's still in shambles, and a lot of other things too.

"Now that's enough, Inquisitor," I say, copying Ser Cullen's big voice. "You need to look decent now. Come, let's get you dressed. And hope that I still remember how to do this."

I've been a servant all my life. I served in Orlais before, and started as a maid in a noble household before my unfortunate ex-boss got caught up really badly in the Game. Then I started working in taverns all over Orlais, some fancy, some not, always thankfully as a cook and nothing more. Then when the civil war happened, my last tavern suffered a major loss of patrons, and had to retrench some of its cooks and wenches. That's when I applied in the Inquisition, and now, I'm an official 'chef.' So yeah, I have a rough knowledge of the Game, both on how nobles play it and how it affects common lives.

I help Lady Evie dress. She has a war meeting to go to. And while the bosses talk politics, trade, secrets, military and other big stuff, I head to one of Lady Nightingale's agents, a girl called Simone, who gives me a refresher course on Imperial etiquette. Not much has changed, everybody still has smile and be polite all the time. But I do get surprised when Simone gives me the basics of espionage as well.

* * *

The Winter Palace is quite a sight. I've no words for it, honestly. How could one sufficiently describe the painstaking details of Orlais' ultimate symbol of decadence and might? It makes my head hurt just trying to express my awe at its beauty. But I don't have very long to linger on that. Right now, I'm a lady's maid wearing a nice silk dress and black leather shoes, a servant pretending to be a spy pretending to be a servant. Whatta promotion from my cotton aprons and cake pans!

"Is my hair alright?" Lady Evie whispers. "Does this dress uniform make me look fat? I knew I should have cut on butter cookies and chocolates the past few weeks!"

"You're radiant, Lady Evie," I tell her. I know that in the Game, confidence is key. "The mighty Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste. You are the embodiment of power and grace. Don't forget that. Otherwise, we're screwed."

She gives a laugh, and puts on her best Inquisitor face, ready to mingle the Imperial Court.

Maker, I never really appreciated how beautiful she is—beautiful as rose made of silverite. Her thick black hair is artfully tied in a bun near the base of her neck, her cheeks chiseled, eyes lined subtly with kohl, lips maroon, all working to complementing her dress uniform. She looks every bit like the glorious Inquisitor she is. It's still early, but she's got a lot of heads turning to her now. Not just the Commander's, who every now and then glances at her with a small smile. Heh. At least one of us isn't seeing a very formidable woman tonight.

She gets introduced, alongside the dignitaries of the Empire and of the Inquisition: Lady Evelyn Marie Antoinette Trevelyan of Ostwick and all her accomplishments. The Court is abuzz, I'm almost excited to be part of the Game.

I take my designated place near Lady Leliana, as Lady Evie sneaks off to search for the assassin. Hopefully, the Court won't notice her absence for long. Tonight, the Game is at its most beautiful and ruthless.

"Do you see anything interesting?" the Spymaster asks me.

"Uh, milady," I stammer. She terrifies me, but gestures me to continue. I look around. "The Commander can't keep his eyes off the Inquisitor, oblivious to the masked beauties around him."

"What?" Lady Leliana says. "No, I know about that already. Tell me about the crowd. Your evaluation of the people here."

"That noble with the golden shoes?" I point at a particularly lavish young woman in the crowd. "With the pearls and emeralds on them. She's not expecting anything but a grand party, milady. Just partying, maybe a little extra after hours of flirtation and a long night of dancing. But no thought of losing her fancy shoes."

"What a good eye," the Spymaster says with a smile. "Yes, that's Lady Cambienne. Her family fell into hard times lately. But such vulgar display of wealth at a time of civil war… what's she done, who's she bedding? Why's she not afraid?"

A flurry of painted nobles glide past us, and we fall silent. I watch the Spymaster's face discreetly, wondering what's going on in her pretty head.

"Sans rival?" She suddenly offers me a platter of exquisite white cake sprinkled with nuts.

"Beg pardon, milady?" I say.

"Cake, Ellie," she says as she takes a bite. "My, someone's a little slow tonight. That's why you haven't made it to agent yet. I know you can tell a lot about someone by what they eat, how they eat, when they eat. I considered training you, but the Commander had other ideas. It worked out in the end. The Inquisitor relies on your sweets in order to function properly."

Curious, that comment. I want to ask Lady Leliana more about it, but she's not as approachable as Ser Cullen has been lately. I decide to shove it at the back of my mind, as right now, I have a job to do.

The party drags on. I'm amusing myself by counting how many decorated princesses ask Ser Cullen for a dance, and get a flat out refusal, which under the circumstances is almost rude. My. I never thought that the Commander himself would know less of the Game and Imperial antics than me, a servant. Well, a chef, but still a servant.

I glance at the Spymaster, whose pretty face is no less of a mask than Lady Evie's; at the Ambassador, who is clearly having the time of her life; and at the Commander, whose enthrallment for Lady Evie is written for all to see. Well, if they care to look. Apparently, those young nobles ignore it.

Things get interesting when Lady Evie dances with the Grand Duchess Florianne. Wow. I know she hates the nobility, but she hides it so well, her beautiful face with a gracious smile a mask in itself. I hear murmurs from the august crowd sharing my sentiment in far more flowery words. And it cannot be denied: tonight, without compare, Inquisitor Evelyn Marie Antoinette Trevelyan is the belle of the ball.

And then Lady Evie comes to the other bosses, discuss Inquisitorial-ey stuff. We take our positions—which means, for me, instructions to give discreet signals to Seeker Cassandra, Ser Dorian and Cole, and then to dash to the servants' area where some of the best agents of the Inquisition wait.

By the time I've returned, however, the Court was in a state of shock. Something big's happened, but no blood has been spilt. Thank Andraste, the Maker, even the elven gods and the Paragons! I discreetly ask the Commander what has happened.

"Evie's denounced the Grand Duchess," Ser Cullen whispers. "And she's decided to let the Empress keep the throne, with that Briala woman. Thank the Maker everything turned out alright. You can inform our agents that they can _slightly_ relax now, but they aren't allowed to, uh, party wildly."

The Empress talks about peace, blah, unity, blah, potential elven rights, wait, there's support for the Inquisition. Now that's the one we've been waiting for. Yay!

Lady Evie steps beside the lovely Empress, and waves to the crowd. I note that the nobles now celebrate the Inquisitor more than the Empress, and spot quite a number of men eager to have her attention.

"Commander?" I whisper.

"Yes?"

"Now would be the perfect time to ask her out again," I tell him "You know, let her eat cake and celebrate."

"The sans rival? It must be good, Leliana can't seem to have enough of it," he says. "I've been meaning to give some to Evie, but do you think she'll like it more than strawberry jam?"

I don't need to answer. As a radiant Inquisitor Evelyn Marie Antoinette Trevelyan approaches her Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford, I discreetly hand him a beautifully done platter of sans rival, which he offers her. They share a secret smile as they head off to the balcony, eating cake with the best vista in the Empire.

Tonight, there are no leftovers for them—only the best and finest. Tonight, they celebrate each other, sans rival.

* * *

A/N: Lady Evie's name and fondness for cake are the only things she shares with a certain French queen who's said to have uttered callous words about letting starving people eat brioche. :)

_Dragon's Brew_ is an idea from the amazing **Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers** Facebook group.

_Sans Rival_ is a Filipino cake made with lots of buttercream, meringue and chopped nuts. Why this local recipe has a French name eludes me, though before I Googled it I assumed that it's a foreign (i.e., French or Canadian) dessert that has caught on our taste.


	7. Offer on the Table

"Anna Hawke's back."

Lady Evie and Ser Cullen are enjoying their evening tea—jasmine, all the way from Rivain, with some biscuits—when a harried agent barges into my kitchen.

"Summon the War Council," she tells the agent, suddenly serious. All of them scurry out the door, without so much as a glance to me, tea and biscuits discarded.

"Leftovers, cleaning up, it all falls to me, and tomorrow I must make some more so that they can leave leftovers and things to clean up," a creepy but familiar voice chants behind me.

"Maker! Didn't Lady Evie tell you something about that?" I screech, then immediately regret it when I see Cole's puppy face. "Why do you do that, Cole?"

"I like helping people," he tells me. "You help people too, you make them happy, by giving sweet food. You don't let other people get hungry. I like you. I want to help you."

"Aww, thanks," I answer him kindly. I briefly wonder if spirits know how to wash plates. Or if they eat. I suddenly feel guilty about the leftovers thought. It's rather unfair to deny what little joys Lady Evie gets from sharing tea and biscuits with her Commander.

"Want a cookie or some jasmine tea?" I ask.

"What's a cookie?" Cole asks back. I offer him an oatmeal cookie from one of Lady Evie's cookie jars, and pour us some tea.

"You are very kind, Ellie. But why do people eat cookies after they had breakfast, or lunch, or dinner?" Cole asks again. "Don't those make them full already?"

"I think they eat cookies because cookies make them happy," I say as he finishes his cookie with evident relish. "But it doesn't make people as full as when they've had dinner."

"Evie likes cookies, and cakes, and brownies, and sweet puffs," he chants as he helps me with my chores. "But Cullen doesn't. Cullen likes steak, lamb stew, hard bread, food for a soldier. Why does Cullen eat cake even if he doesn't like it? Why do _you_ give him cake when you know he doesn't like it?"

"He does that to make Lady Evie happy," I answer, though the question's on my mind too. "Sometimes the heart does things for reasons reason itself cannot understand, even if the tummy slightly disagrees."

"You're not happy here," Cole tells me. "You think you can be something more, too."

"No, that's not true, kiddo," I say. He's getting creepier than usual. I don't like folks reading what's on my head. "Well, I think I should open up my own café in Val Royeaux, call it Val Caffeine, sell fancy coffee, tea and cakes, but I don't want to leave Lady Evie."

"You want to help Evie" he says, ignoring my statement. "You want to spy on bad people, report to the Nightingale, help the Inquisition in important things. You think your cakes and cookies and teas and coffees are not important to Evie, and that cooks are only a little useful to the Inquisition. Why do you call Leliana Nightingale?"

"Because she sings real beautiful," I answer, grateful that Cole switches topics. "Nightingales sing real beautiful, Leliana does too, so she earns it."

"But birds don't hurt people. Sometimes, Leliana hurts people," he protests.

"Oh, kid, I don't understand her myself," I tell him and offer him another cookie.

"I like cookies and jasmine tea. And I like you, Ellie. Just like Evie does. Thank you for the cookies and the tea. They were delicious."

And he disappears just as mysteriously as he appears.

Over the next few days Lady Evie and the big bosses strategize on their siege of Adamant Fortress. For a while, I busy myself with helping prepare food for everyone, even as I prepare Lady Evie's special rations. Our little army of cooks spend every waking moment preserving meats and baking breads, while the mages enchant box upon box where rations would be kept. Finally, the army march to the other end of Orlais, and it's been days since I gave Lady Evie her enchanted lunchbox containing an assortment of cookies, chocolates, and tea leaves. I miss her, and I try not to think what might happen to her and the others as well.

Only a skeleton force remains in Skyhold. One afternoon, as I help clean the mess hall, the Nightingale appears in the kitchen, looking for me.

"Something I can do for you, milady?" I ask.

"Yes, Chef," she says. "Can you bake me some sans rival cake?"

"Certainly, milady," I tell her. "But I keep all the cake flour in Lady Evie's personal kitchen."

"I'm sure she won't mind, or notice, if you use some of those ingredients for me," Lady Leliana answers.

I sure can't argue with that. I bid Rina and the others goodbye, and lead Lady Leliana into the Inquisitor's personal kitchen. But a small part of me feels odd—this kitchen, _my_ _kitchen_, is Lady Evie's personal space. It's almost like betraying a trust. At the same time, Lady Leliana is also a boss, not to mention, she gave Lady Evie the title of Inquisitor, not the other way around. So in a way, she's Lady Evie's boss.

Urgh. I don't like thinking this way. So when I open the door to the kitchen, I proceed to busy myself with flour, eggs, and sugar.

"You work silently and intently," Lady Leliana comments. "Such a serious demeanor from a pastry chef always churning out sweet food."

"Milady," I nod. What do I tell her? So I just smile at her briefly, unable to look her in her pretty eyes, and continue baking.

But mixing ingredients is only half the process of baking. The other part entails waiting for the cake batter to cook inside the oven. So I can't really use the I'm-busy-baking-don't-break-my-concentration ruse now.

"Do you remember our conversation in Halamshiral?" Lady Leliana asks.

"Yes, milady," I say meekly. It just occurs to me that I feel far more comfortable in the presence of the military commander than with the seneschal. Well, Ser Cullen has an adorable and awkward side to him, especially when Lady Evie's involved, but Lady Leliana is the Spymaster. I just feel weird. It's like she judges me with every stare, weighing my worth with every breath.

"The Inquisition can use a spy in the kitchens of the powerful," she tells me. "One can never have too many spies in Val Royeaux or elsewhere. Your perception is good, but can be improved. But your ability to keep secrets is not. I don't imply that you will actively betray us, rather, your face tells everything about you. A counter-agent can easily detect you if you use a cover as a scullery maid. But if we put you in a kitchen or café, as a cook or as a waitress, you can serve food and be able to listen to conversations, because nobody expects that kitchen aides are spies. More importantly, you can note if something is out of the ordinary by what, when or how people eat. And you will have to learn cipher, so that you can send your reports via raven."

I stare at the floor, as if I were a child caught in wrongdoing. Which I'm not, but I do it anyway.

"You have doubts, yes?" Lady Leliana continues. "But I believe you want to serve the Inquisition. Cooking sweets for the Inquisitor can be done by any other cook. You, on the other hand, have something else that most other cooks do not. Think about it."

"I think the cake's done baking, milady," I answer, and take the cakes out of the oven. It's still hot. I layer them, putting buttercream and nuts between the cakes, and topping it with meringue and more nuts.

"You do serve tea, or coffee, or any other beverage?" Lady Leliana asks.

"Apologies, milady," I say, "but I've sent all my tea leaves and coffee beans with the Inquisitor and the Commander." A half truth, I know. I've sent all the tea and coffee in _this_ kitchen to Lady Evie and Ser Cullen. That doesn't mean there are no other tea leaves in any of Skyhold's _other_ kitchens. And the Spymaster knows that for sure. Well, in my defense, I can claim that all the ingredients in this room are mine, just as Rina can claim that the stuff in the tavern kitchen are hers. Even if we can't use them for our own ends.

"My offer's on the table, Ellie," Lady Leliana tells me as she takes a bite from the cake. "Mmm, this is good. No wonder Evie loves you and your kitchen. And you don't have to fear me, Ellie. Unless you don't remain discreet about my offer, or you lie to me when you report."

She smiles at me, and gestures that I should eat with her. And I do.

* * *

**A/N:** Many thanks to those who prod me, like **AgapeErosPhilia**, to write this story! Real life's a b-tch sometimes, especially if one's a struggling student. Thanks also to **JayRain** and **Loverofallfiction** for their kind reviews, and to the members of the Dragon Age Fan Fiction Writers group in Facebook. :)

Don't forget to send some reviewing love!


	8. Not-so-Sweet Victory and Bitter News

Lady Evie returns from Adamant victorious, gloriously silhouetted by the dawn as she rides home. As quite expected. There have been rumors for days before her arrival that she got thrown in the Fade with some others, that someone got left there, that the Grey Wardens are joining us, and a notorious prisoner has been apprehended, and the nations of Thedas defer to the Inquisition's jurisdiction in judging him.

I watch the proud banners of the Inquisition flying, happy for my mistress, and confident that should Lady Evie visit the kitchen, as is her wont, she'd find her celebratory pastries, coffee, and some fresh fruit there. Nor would her Commander be left out as I also made some simple breads for him if he takes his morning tea with her.

As soon as the troops settle inside the keep, I go back to the kitchen, and true enough, Lady Evie arrives, freshened up, her hair still wet from her bath. But I notice that she isn't smiling.

Is Adamant less of a victory than what we in Skyhold have anticipated?

"What happened, Lady Evie?" I ask.

"We lost good men and women out there, Ellie," she says sadly as she stares into the dark coffee. "Soldiers loyal to our cause, loyal to me. Men and women who had families and friends. Not to mention, the only honorable Warden I know other than Blackwall. Stroud. He could have helped rebuild the Order. Not to mention the things I found out, the many things I have found out... it's hard to see the wisest thing to do right now."

The kitchen door creaks open, and in comes Ser Cullen, who, despite obvious efforts to make himself presentable, looks forlorn, sleepless and wan.

"Rolls, ser?" I offer him instinctively. He nods, and sits beside Lady Evie. I pour him some Arl Grey with lemon as he kisses her hand.

Lady Evie sheds her sadness away at the gesture, and smiles at him, before resuming her best business-ey voice. I think this must be a breakfast meeting, and so I prepare to leave discreetly.

"Commander," she says, "you mentioned earlier something about the Red Templars' source of lyrium in Sahrnia."

Servants shouldn't really be eavesdropping on official conversations. But the mention of Sahrnia—I have family there. So I decide to take a very bold move and thank my lucky stars that I have gotten a certain degree of friendship and familiarity with my bosses.

"Inquisitor, there are Red Templars in Sahrnia?" I ask with trepidation.

"Evie has found smuggler letters pointing out that Sahrnia the main source of red lyrium," Ser Cullen says matter-of-factly. "Why? Do you know anyone in Sahrnia?" he adds kindly.

"There are reports, and I've been meaning to investigate myself," Lady Evie answers. "But Adamant got in the way."

Red Templars, like the ones in Haven from whom we'd escaped. Big, hulking, scary men-not-really-men. Crystals growing out of some of them. I lose all composure, and fall onto the floor.

"Maker," Lady Evie whispers, and wraps her arms around me. "Ellie, I'm so sorry. I forgot. Leliana's mentioned that you have family there. A brother you corresponded with. Have you heard from him recently?"

"No, Lady Evie," I tell her. "But I'm sure it's alright," I add.

Losing composure in front of my bosses is not a good thing. So I thank her and take my leave.

Later in the day, dignitaries and denizens alike of Skyhold witness Inquisitor Evelyn Marie Antoinette Trevelyan passing judgment on the prisoner Livius Eremond. A deranged magister, if you ask me, and it would have been interesting to hear him blabber about some one true god and Tevinter owning everything if I weren't so distracted.

Cole appears by my side. "_Pain, regret, I should have written more often, I should have helped him, I should not have left him_… Do you want to forget the hurt, Ellie?"

"Maker, no!" I gasp, horrified at the very idea.

"Then don't forget him," Cole says simply. "Varric says that sometimes, talking helps. And talking will help you remember. And you like talking about things with some cookies. I like cookies too."

It would be profoundly ungrateful to this spirit of compassion if I turn down this kind offer. So I let him lead me to my kitchen, and before I know it there are milk and cookies before me.

"My older brother is Jean," I tell Cole. "Our parents died when we were little. Jean found work for us as servants in Lord Valois's estate near Emprise du Lion. We were paid well, because our lord was rich… but he had enemies, and he was killed because of the Game. We couldn't find work together, so we separated. I went on to be a cook in Sahrnia, and then to Val Royeaux, and then Haven and the Inquisition. But Jean remained in Sahrnia as a miner. He didn't write often, because he found it hard to write."

"He seems very kind," Cole says.

And as if reading my mind, Cole reaches out to a counter and gets a tin box. He opens it, and finds the only letter Jean has written to me.

"Your brother loves you," Cole says, echoing my thoughts. "His imprint on this letter is strong. Worry, love, regret. He misses you."

The number of times I've read that letter, I know it like the back of my hand. _I can take care of myself, Ellie, just like when I took care of you when you were younger. And I would appreciate if you baked me chocolate chip cookies again, like the ones Mother made._

I weep, and trust that Cole would return the letter and the box as he has found them.

"You know I'm thinking of how I could bring you news about him," a familiar feminine voice said. Lady Evie, kind as always. "I'm leaving for Sahrnia day after tomorrow, assuming I finish all business here first."

"Evie, radiant, beautiful, cruel," Cole says. "You want to help. But I don't know how that helps. You took away the essence of what he is. His magic, his feelings, his emotions. He was frightened before he became empty."

"I'm really not in the mood for this, Cole," Lady Evie said wearily. "I meted out justice as I thought best."

"Justice is strange sometimes," Cole notes, and disappears.

"We are going to set up camp in Sahrnia, and retake the keep there," Lady Evie tells me. "I will send you word immediately once I get there. What's his full name and situation?"

"Jean Martin, Inquisitor," I say, humbled that she even thought of my needs. "Worked at the quarries for some time…"

Weeks pass. I push away all emotions while performing my duties in the main hall kitchens and sometimes spend time in the tavern kitchen with Rina. I also continue my wont of taking breakfast, lunch and dinner to the Commander's office when Lady Evie's not around—because that man really forgets himself when he works—and, man, if those lines on his face and the not-empty food trays he leaves for me or the other servants to pick up does not tell a story I'll be a kitten. One day, however, a raven arrives with a message for me directly from Lady Evie—_Sahrnia and Suledin Keep taken for the Inquisition. Asked around for your brother Jean Martin, with Cole's help of course. We need to talk_.

When Lady Evie returns, she hugs me and whispers how sorry she is, but she's too late. My brother is one of the victims of the Red Templars and that horrible woman Mistress Poulin, who sold out the quarries knowing what it would do to some of the villagers. Including my brother.

Someone, maybe Lady Evie or Cole, puts a plate of cookies and a glass of warm milk before me. But I am not in the mood for sweets right now.

My first instinct is to run to Sister Nightingale and tell her that I will work as a spy so as to help weed out people like Mistress Poulin, to stop them from hurting innocent people.

* * *

**A/N:** So sorry for the slow updates! Real life gets in the way of things, but I promise, I haven't abandoned this work yet.


	9. Eating Up

The situation's reversed now, in a cruelly ironic way. Instead of me serving the Inquisitor her comfort food, Lady Evie is the one who has given me hot chocolate and cookies. The taste is familiar—maybe she's ordered the cookies from a shop in Val Royeaux, or has asked someone else to bake. Maybe she's even baked this herself, but that's unlikely, because I know she's been busy.

"Hurt and confusion, loneliness and anger, eating you up," Cole chants. "Regret, always regret, if decisions had been different. Guilt for having survived and living in relative comfort. Working a sweet job when Jean dies in pain. Anger at her, rage against the woman who sold Jean, the woman who sold people like chattel, knowing what cruel fate they would face."

"You shouldn't let all these emotions eat you up, Ellie," Lady Evie says kindly as she holds my hand. "You should eat dinner, and breakfast and lunch, and snacks too. At the very least, these cookies and milk."

I still am not in a mood to eat anything. It's been several days now, since the Inquisitor meted justice to Mistress Poulin, may the Void take her and chop her up in tiny little pieces for spider-demons to devour. Lady Evie has ordered her execution, and her lands and gold forfeit in favor of the townsfolk, so that they may rebuild. Justice is enough, is not enough.

"Does her death bring back the lives of those she caused to die?" Cole chants. "Can her money heal the wounds in the heart of the grieving?"

Lady Evie sighs, hugs me, then looks me in the eye and grips my hand tightly. "Take the rest of the week off, Ellie, that's an order."

And for the rest of the week I walk without a purpose, no kitchen duties to attend to, no cake to bake.

* * *

I seek out the Spymaster. _Sister_ Leliana, as her agents call her, as I must soon call her if this goes according to plan.

From afar I see in her spot in the rookery, reading reports and occasionally glimpsing the sky from her window.

"Spymaster," I say as I approach, and I hand her a jug of fresh Arl Grey tea.

"Ellie," she says in her melodious voice. That must be her best asset—she looks and sounds so sweet at first, that many an unwitting victim must have fallen for her before dying at her hand.

"Arl Grey," the Spymaster says. "Interesting choice. Why this?"

"Because the Arlessa of Amaranthine is your friend, before she became Hero, Queen, Commander and Arlessa. The tea leaves of this place is the main produce of the fields of Amaranthine after she dealt with sentient darkspawn in the area, and the people named it after her," I answer, rehashing the Ferelden gossip as I've heard them in Orlesian taverns.

"I wouldn't put it that bluntly, but yes," Sister Leliana says, giving me a sweet smile. Hmm. How many people have received that same sweet smile before meeting their end?

"Are you ready for your first assignment?" she asks me.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Sister," I say.

"Good. I'll put you in kitchen and mess hall detail," she says matter-of-factly. "Specifically, you are to cook for the Wardens. You are aware how they are now under the Inquisition?"

"Yes," I tell her, "but more information would not hurt."

"More information _could_ hurt, Ellie," Sister Leliana answers. "It depends which kind of information, and from whom you ask. That's a primary lesson for us. We are given only what we need to know, and we must find out the rest for ourselves, always at a risk."

She accepts the tea and stares out the window, lost in thought. "If I had met you before Evie changed me, I might not have told you that." And then she looks me in the eye. "I might even have sent you on a mission, knowing that your success would mean your life. There's no use denying that, because you are astute and you can see that. But Evie has reminded me that the… lives of our agents matter. _All men are the work of the Maker's hands, from the lowest servants to the highest kings._"

"The lives of the poor matter as much as the lives of the rich," I mutter under my breath, daring to say what I'm saying. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you think that way, Spymaster. One may not live long if they keep treating your servants harshly."

"That is a bold statement. And you're here because you wish to avenge your brother." It is not a question.

"I am here to serve, Sister," I answer steadfastly. Normally I wouldn't have answered like this, but my heart is still hot. "To serve the Inquisition, to help Inquisitor Trevelyan. Avenging my brother won't bring him back. But serving the Inquisitor may help prevent losses, so that others like him don't need to die."

"We all serve for our own reasons, some more noble than others," Sister Leliana tells me. "Report to the main kitchens after Evie leaves for the Emerald Graves tomorrow. As I'm sure you're aware, Grey Wardens eat more than the average soldier, so we need more hands at the kitchen now. Watch them. Watch the other servants. Tell me _anything_ you see interesting."

"Noted," I say, acknowledging her dismissal.

"Oh and Ellie?" she says as I turn to the stairs. "Do you still bring food to the Commander's quarters whenever the Inquisitor's not here?"

"Only when he does not come to the mess hall himself, Sister," I answer.

"Please continue that," the Spymaster tells me. "Commander Cullen is vital to the Inquisition."

* * *

And so I double my work, because Grey Wardens eat like crazy, and Commander Cullen's not going to the mess hall as often as he should. Not that I mind. For almost a week he has asked me to bring him some headache potions, if I would be so kind, along with his meals. And I comply, noting that despite the cold, his brow is sweaty, and that there are lines on his face that indicate sleepless nights and a certain sullenness that hints of fatigue. His food trays too have too much leftovers. I briefly wonder if he used to be an alcoholic who's turned a new leaf, and is now suffering withdrawal, but I know that assuming too much without any prior observation is one of an agent's biggest sins. I just decide to tell Sister Leliana my observations without any commentary.

What I won't tell the Spymaster is that the Commander of the Inquisition is a kind man. Kinder than most lords in Orlais, and most tavern keeps for that matter.

"Ellie," he calls me one night as I deliver his dinner. "I realize that it's been some time, but I have not offered my condolences. Allow me to offer it now, chef. My condolences for your brother, Jean Martin, who must have been a good man."

This is surprising, but not unwelcome. "Thank you, Ser. He was."

"I've lost enough to understand what you're going through," Ser Cullen says. "My siblings Mia, Rosalie and Branson survived the Blight and left our home village of Honnleath, but my parents did not. When they passed away, I was serving as a Templar, and I could not obtain leave to attend their funeral. I was in mad grief, partly due to other things too, but… I had my duties to attend to."

There seems to be something Ser Cullen almost blurted, but I let it pass. He is a kind man, and I am touched by his concern.

"It took me a while, but I realized that it's alright to mourn, Ellie," he continues. "Even in private. Even while working. But don't let it ruin your life, don't make regret eat you up. Our lives go on. We should emerge from our grief as better persons, and make sure the ones we loved did not die in vain."

"Thank you, Ser." I know that there's something he's almost blurted, about why he couldn't make it to his parents' funeral, but I don't see how that's any of my concern. I should not pry, I should not bite the hand that feeds me.

I bid him good night, but as I close his office door I hear a loud thud. I reopen the door with alacrity.

The Commander's fallen to the ground. I run to him, and he whispers how he wants to be assisted to bed. I help him up his ladder—somebody ought to get this man a real bedroom, or at least, decent stairs. He makes me swear not to tell the soldiers or anyone else about this. I'm thankful that it's to the soldiers he makes me swear discretion to, and not Lady Evie or Sister Leliana.

* * *

Being the Inquisitor's personal chef has lightened my workload, true, but right now I'm thankful for the distraction of too-much-work in the kitchens, delivering food to the Commander, and watching people. Even the after-dinner grub that soldiers eat in the tavern are doubled, much to Rinna's irritation—"feeding all that bunch of crazy that the Inquisitor brought back from the edge of the world for the Maker only knows what reason" as she puts it.

"Do the Wardens all eat like pigs?" Rinna asks me one day as I help her prepare after-dinner grubs in the tavern. "You know that some of them have broken in my larders again?"

"Beats me," I answer. "Wardens are crazy."

"You're close to the big bosses. Can you ask Commander Handsome to put guards on the larder, lass?" she asks with obvious irritation. "Some of us here don't earn _wages_, you know. We earn profits from selling food."

"I'm not _very_ good friends with the bosses, but sure, I can ask Commander Cullen to post guards on the larder," I say. And because she's glaring at me, I swear it in the Maker's name.

"They've been here weeks, but they've eaten up enough for one winter," she comments. "And you. I know you're mourning, but do you really have to work your back off? Work in the main kitchens at day, work in the tavern at night? Deliver food to the Commander, morning noon and night?"

"It's nothing, Rinna," I say. "I like working. Gives me purpose."

"Purpose for what? Anyway, my life will be better if all Wardens stop drinking like fish and start eating like birds. Or if anyone gives me an unpickable magic lock. Ach, at least Wardens pay promptly. Can't be said of the Chargers most of the time."

"At least the Chargers are polite," I counter.

"Aye, they say thank-you on occasion," Rinna says. "Silence must be a Warden thing. Or are they still embarrassed by the entire business at Adamant?"

But as much as Rinna's a mother-sister figure to me, there are things I shouldn't share with her—I work all these shifts because I'm watching people now, and I can't tell her what I know or what I think. It's sad, that I can no longer talk to Rinna as unreservedly, but duty calls.

I verify later—well, ninety-percent verify—that it was indeed Wardens who have raided Rinna's larder. I continue observing them for some days, their taciturn ways, their insatiable appetites that is three to four times of an average soldier's, and their chronic inability to socialize with the rest of the folks in Skyhold. Very much like Blackwall, who's looked restless for the past couple days. But as strong and silent as Lady Evie's first Warden is, he doesn't eat half as much as any Warden…

I hear the night bells, realize what an un-Maker-ly hour it is, and yawn. My report to the Nightingale will come first thing in the morning.

* * *

**A/N:** Real life has been weird for me, and that's why it's taking me long to upload new chapters. But I really appreciate feedback on this! Thanks for the reviews, messages, faves and follows. Author subsists on unsweetened tea and coffee as well as concrit! :)


	10. A Dash of Bitter Truths

I prepare another jug of Arl Grey for Sister Nightingale, readying my mental reports. Brr. I shouldn't have eaten too much breakfast.

"No one has seen you go up here, Ellie?" Sister Nightingale asks. The sun has barely risen, but I know I may have made a mistake—not everybody wakes up as late as Lady Evie.

"Uh… I'm not so sure, milady," I say, slipping back into "milady" because I suddenly feel like a doltish servant. Maker's breath. I should learn subtlety.

"We shall discuss later how you'll be delivering your reports, Ellie," the Spymaster says. "I'm more concerned now with what you'll tell me."

"Right, Sister," I say, readying myself. "You have noticed the way Wardens eat voraciously, like there's no tomorrow?"

"Ellie," Sister Nightingale says, "I have travelled with two Wardens before they became King and Queen. Tell me something I don't know before I reconsider my decision about you."

"One of them does not eat like there's no tomorrow," I report. "Blackwall. He doesn't talk to them either. I noticed that the Wardens don't really talk to others, but at least they occasionally converse with each other. But Blackwall, he avoids them. He avoids the tavern when he knows they're there."

"This is interesting. Ellie, I want you to take half a roast boar and some yams as a present to Blackwall," Sister Leliana orders. "Put it in a nice box, like the ones Lady Trevelyan uses to give rewards. Make it appear as if it's come from her. Observe how long it takes him to eat it. Report to the War Room under the pretext of serving tea for the advisers' meeting."

"Yes, Sister," I answer.

"How's the Commander?"

"He hasn't been eating properly. I serve him mostly bread, jam, cheese and some ham for breakfast, with some coffee or tea. For lunch and dinner, he prefers heavy stews. But he hasn't been finishing his meals very often."

"I hear you helped him the other night when he collapsed."

"Yes, Sister Nightingale," I say, "I was there when he collapsed. Took quite some effort to help him. But that day, he had not eaten breakfast or lunch."

"Do you tell Lady Trevelyan of the Commander's problems?" the Spymaster asks.

"I mean to," I answer, "but whenever she's here there seems to be other things to talk about. She must have noticed his problems, as she's always asked me to look after him every time she goes away."

"Lady Trevelyan has not confided in you what she thinks is the Commander's problem?"

"No, Spymaster," I answer, and Sister Nightingale dismisses me.

As I leave the rookery, I hear the trumpets heralding Lady Evie's return. I glance at the window, and see her standard silhouetted against the dawn. Glorious, as ever, my Lady Evie. Her first order of business must be to tidy up, maybe a nice bath, before joining the others for breakfast. Around midmorning she'd be going to my kitchen for her treats, so I must finish Sister Leliana's orders by then.

Roast boar. Hmm. I've seen three Wardens eat an entire boar in one sitting. Wonder how long Blackwall will eat his half. Probably a week if my observation of him is accurate. I go to the main kitchen, thankful that they're already started cooking roast boar and yams for lunch. Then again, Sister Leliana must have known what's on the menu beforehand. I proceed to my kitchen to wrap it up.

"Roast boar," I hear Lady Evie's voice from the doorway. "I must say, Ellie, that's not my idea of a midmorning snack."

"No, Lady Evie," I say apologetically. "Sister Leliana's orders. I'm sorry."

"So you took up Leliana's task," she says amusingly. "I knew it was only a matter of time. What's your assignment?"

"I mustn't say, Your Worship," I answer meekly.

"Oh well," she says, amusement still in her voice. "You won't call me 'Your Worship' if you haven't done anything funny, Ellie. Not as if I don't know the general idea, but I'll ask her the details later. I've managed to seal all the Rifts in the Emerald Dales, gotten new recruits and some interesting samples, and it's all done wonders for the Inquisition's influence. And I don't think Leliana's ordered you yet to do the impossible. I'll just have to trust her judgment on this."

"Very well, Lady Evie," I say.

She glances at my package. "I don't think Leliana's ordered you to poison Blackwall on my apparent orders?" Lady Evie enquires.

"Of course not, Lady Evie!" I say, aghast.

"Very well then, Ellie," she says. "I've been meaning to thank Blackwall for his services and friendship. We'll be hitting two birds with one stone here—provided Leliana's not asked you to poison Blackwall in my name. You'll be serving tea in the War Room?" she asks with a glint in her eye.

"Of course, Lady Evie," I say.

"Ellie," Lady Evie says, suddenly serious. Hmm. Has she been sweetening me up so that she could take me at unawares with this question? "How is the Commander? Do you watch him when he trains?" she asks me.

"At time, yes," I say, remembering that the Commander personally overlooks the soldiers' training, like he's doing right now. "Before the noon bell, he usually goes up to do paperwork. But what he does with the paperwork, I don't know."

"I heard on my way here that you helped him the night he collapsed," she enquired. "The mages have not told you anything?"

"No, Lady Evie, but I don't need the mages to know that he's ill," I say, and quickly deliberate if I should tell her my conclusions as well as my mere observations. I quickly decide on the latter. "He barely eats, he always seems tired and complains of headaches. He doesn't seem to be getting enough sleep. But he gets up just like any other soldier, I often bring him breakfast in his tower when I don't see him going down, and afterwards I take out his food tray."

"My poor man," she says. "Ellie, after you're done, can you help me bake some Ferelden rolls? Scratch that, do what Leliana's asked you, that's important too. Just tell me where the flour bins are, and the cheese, and your recipe book."

I point at the right cupboards, and Lady Evie sends me away. So it's not even midmorning that I reach the stables where Blackwall likes to hang out, but I notice he's not there. I ask Master Dennett, but he says he hasn't seen the Warden. So I take a look around—

And I see it. A griffon with a letter addressed to the Inquisitor: _"Inquisitor, you've been a friend and an inspiration. You've given me the wisdom to know what is right from wrong, and more importantly, the courage to uphold the former. It's been my honor to serve you."_

If this isn't a reason to alert Lady Evie and convene the War Council, I'm a nug.

* * *

**A/N:** Two chapters to make up for the time I haven't been posting anything! I've also taken a few liberties with the timing of the events here, basing on my first play through of Inquisition: I did the Crestwood part of the Hawke/Warden quest, then proceeded to Halamshiral, returned to finish Adamant, strolled in the Emerald Graves, and then discovered Blackwall's letter. Hope you're not too confused with my timeline. I'd be happy to answer any questions regarding it.


	11. Questions and Addictions

"Oh no, no, no," I chant in my head, "this is _so_ not screwing my job up." My. I'm a fat cook and a newbie spy who can't run for the life of her, but I have this griffon statuette and short letter to deliver to my bosses.

I quickly deliberate which Boss I could reach first—Lady Evie in the kitchen, elbows deep in dough, or the Commander in his tower, drowning in endless paperwork. The Spymaster in her rookery, and the noble Ambassador in her cozy office, just scare me, so they're out of the question, and anyway those are too far. The kitchen's near the throne room in the far end of the castle, but the tower is just over there, so it's not a very tough call.

I bang the Commander's door open.

"Ser, Commander, milord," I pant.

And he's not there. He must be training with the soldiers, or having tea with Lady Evie, or at his prayers, he could be anywhere!

So I find myself running towards the main hall, taking a shortcut near the strange elf Solas's study—is that my missing black tea I smell brewing in here?—past Varric, who's probably writing a new chapter for Seeker Cassandra if rumor's to be believed, forgetting my manners when I reach the gossipy nobles near the throne, before I reach my kitchen.

At least two out of the four big bosses are there already. And what a sight it is—Lady Evie covered in flour from head to foot, elbow deep in dough with Ser Cullen, who, even if looking fatigued, has smile on his face.

They must've been sharing a private joke before I arrived. Or even kissing, judging from the flour marks on Ser Cullen's face, hair and torso. Maker's breath, I hate to ruin their fun.

"Milady," I say, trying to catch my breath. I show her the griffon and the letter.

Lady Evie glances at Ser Cullen, suddenly serious. "Commander, assemble the War Council," she commands. She doesn't really need to; the Commander regains his professional mien as quickly as she does. "And Ellie, fetch me a new robe from my suite, quickly."

* * *

Weeks pass after Lady Evie rode hard to Val Royeaux with The Iron Bull, Sera, Seeker Cassandra, Commander Cullen, and a contingent of Inquisition soldiers to Val Royeaux. I continue watching the Wardens, as the Spymaster ordered me. There's nothing new with them, really—as voracious with food as they are reluctant to socialize with others. Some of us have tried chatting them up regarding Blackwall, the real one as well as the impostor. No response, really, other than "I don't know." Shame. I want to tell the Spymaster more.

Sister Leliana has asked me to ask our mage scholars what are the usual signs of demonic possession—a topic I'd avoid, but I'm a big girl working for the Inquisition now, and I won't be a good spy if I don't know what I'm looking for. So I head up to Ser Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous, that charming, stylish man who happens to love my velvet cake.

"Oh, my dear sweet chef," he greets me. "The Lady of the Red Velvet."

"You remember, Ser?" I say, grateful he does. It flatters me to know that I make great cakes!

"Of course. If that cake hadn't been divine, I'd have thrown it in my father's face," he chuckles. "Which would have been horribly cliché, but not less than what he deserves."

"Sister Leliana's asked me to ask you—"

"What? Darling Evie hasn't sent you to ask me to make time-warping lunch boxes now?"

Let me clarify this: I haven't bothered Ser Dorian to make time-warping lunch boxes. No, it's been Enchanter Fiona and the other rescued mages I ask for enchanted food packs. But it's Ser Dorian, Lady Evie's companion, that I trust enough to ask about something as serious as possession. Even if I have to endure his teasing.

"Dorian," a melodious voice calls from the stairs near the Tevinter's bookshelves. "Do be a dear, and teach her about signs of possession like those you've seen at Adamant. She's a quick study and would reward you with cake later, won't you, Ellie?"

"Very well," the mage sighs dramatically, "I shall descend to teaching little girls about the evils of blood magic. But only if you spill the beans on Evie and that strapping ex-Templar!"

"Well, Lady Evie does have tea with him always…" I begin.

"Just tea? No whipped cream? Chocolate syrup? Maybe, desserts on a _special_ plate? Or spices that enhance the appetite?" he laments.

I don't want to ask which special plate or enhancing spices Ser Dorian is referring to.

But I do learn about demonic possessions like the ones that happened in Adamant. And nope, I haven't seen any overt signs on the Wardens. Because apparently, being secluded, eating ginormous amounts of food without getting fat, and getting all broody and stuff are not usual signs of demonic possession or strange blood rituals. And I think the Spymaster has got mage observers on the Wardens anyhow.

"Ser Mage," I ask Dorian after discussing possessed Wardens with gleaming eyes and Templars with red crystals growing on their skin, "would you know of anything that causes fatigue, loss of appetite, or insomnia?"

"My dear wonderful Chef," he replies in his booming voice, "a great number of ailments could be the culprit behind those. Anything from terminal illness, poisons, or mere malingering and hypochondria."

"The person I'm referring to doesn't seem to be suffering from any terminal illness I know of," I answer, looking through his bookshelves. "And it's really, insanely hard to poison that person, and totally out of character to pretend to be sick to avoid work. Have you heard or read of former alcoholics who are suddenly deprived of alcohol, and get those symptoms instead?"

"Oh, I've seen them, Chef," the mage answers. "Been with them, almost became one of them, even. Withdrawal from something terribly addicting could drive a person mad, if not done properly. Of course, alcohol could kill a person, in very large doses, I'm sure you know that."

"Discipline is not enough to wean a person out of alcohol?" I ask. "And is alcohol the only thing that could be this dangerously addicting?"

"Alcohol, certain herbs, lyrium, all of these can be addicting if not respected," he recites impatiently as he checks his fingernails. "Withdrawal from these can have different effects on different people. Discipline, and support from other people, maybe nausea and headache potions, help wean the mind away from the source of the addiction. But the body is a different matter. I've heard of potions that can replace the former addicting substance, so in effect, you're trading one addicting substance for another. Not everybody can just wean themselves from addiction of any kind. I've met incurable alcoholics and lyrium-addled Templars, and mind you they're not the monstrous ugly red ones too. Is there anything else dear Leliana wants me to teach you, or will you withhold my afternoon tea and cake with more questions?"

"No other questions, Ser Mage," I say, and I proceed to prepare his tea—fragrant and fruity is how he likes it, with some brioche.

"Do I know the person you think is withdrawing from alcohol, Ellie?" Ser Dorian asks, unusually serious now. "You don't need to worry your pretty head for myself, the Chargers, that elf Sera, or any other patron of _The Herald's Rest _for alcohol addiction. But is there someone…"

"No, ser, my interest is purely academic," I answer, but I know I'm a horrible liar.

"Ooh, that makes it even more delicious," he says, regaining his singsong voice. "I'm going to have fun prying it from Leliana."

* * *

"You've asked Dorian about alcohol withdrawal, yes?" the Spymaster asks me after I've reported that the Wardens aren't doing anything crazy as far as I could tell.

"I can't help but notice that Ser Cullen often is tired, sleepless, and barely eats, Sister," I answer. "And Lady Evie's, well, asked me to look out for him."

"What makes you think that the Commander is an alcoholic?" she asks me.

"My former employer, Lord Valois, had a son who was an incurable alcoholic," I answer, gazing into the floor as if I'm a child caught in wrongdoing. "The son drank like a fish, morning day and night. Finally, Lord Valois ordered his son locked in his bedroom, deprived of alcohol and given only food and water. Whenever we servants brought him food, we noticed—_I_ noticed—that he had no appetite despite the very tasty food we served, had lines on his face that aged him a decade, was very shaky and nauseous, and hinted that he couldn't sleep. Some days, he was peaceful, but he could be very troubled at times too. He remained that way until... Lord Valois passed away and I had to find a new situation. Now Ser Cullen had almost no lines on his face back in Haven, and he used to have a healthy appetite then too, and was not very shaky. And some servants now are gossiping about his nausea, even as you try to stop them, Sister."

Sister Leliana looks thoughtful, and remains silent for a while.

Finally, she said, "You are an astute observer, Ellie. Watch him closely when he returns from Val Royeaux, which is any day now. And… continue your kindness. Maybe the Inquisitor, or the Commander himself, will grace you with knowledge, but I will not."

"Yes, Sister," I answer.

"I order you, however, as Seneschal of the Inquisition," she says, "that you _will_ stop the servants from gossiping, and report to me those who do. We cannot have our Commander the laughing stock of our forces."

It's not hard for me to put two and two together to get four. I know that Ser Cullen used to be a Templar, that Templars take lyrium, and this is a heavily guarded Chantry secret. I've seen the Inquisition's Templars imbibe the blue stuff in private, after their meals, when they think they're alone. Even after all this time, they guard this secret jealously, so I decide to respect that.

And if I'm right… Maker, Ser Cullen is an admirable man for what he's doing. I just hope that he can make it.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks so much to you, reader, for reading! Don't forget to review as well, because the author subsists on feedback and unsweetened tea and coffee. :)

Chef Ellie and Lady Evie would like to give blueberry cheesecakes to **AgapeErosPhilia**, **JayRain**, **Fates-Love-Queen**, my anonymous reviewer, and the wonderful **Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers Group** on Facebook!


	12. Aftertastes

I can tell that Lady Evie's more concerned than she lets on. It's not in her posture, it's not in her stride, and it's not in the way she grips the armrest of her throne. It's in the way she glared at her unsweetened Dragon's Brew coffee this morning in the kitchen, just before holding court. She ignored the small jar of sugar on the table, she ignored her pastries, she ignored Ser Cullen's hand on hers. And she drank her entire mug in one go. Whew. That coffee, when unsweetened, has quite the bitter aftertaste.

It's hard to be in Lady Evie's shoes, with all those decisions and courses of actions, but that's not very obvious right now to an onlooker. There she is, radiant on her throne, as if Blessed Andraste Herself is behind her and bathing her in a golden glow. Well, it's the morning sun's rays diffused by the window behind the throne that bathes Lady Evie in light. Skyhold's interior designer really should be given credit.

I stand quite far apart from the crowd of noble and merchant onlookers. And, I'm a little surprised, Ser Cullen is here, too. Then again, he's never really had the hang of nobles.

"It's a marvelous sight, isn't it, Ellie?" Ser Cullen whispers in an adoring voice. "So majestic and proud in making decisions that will shape Thedas forever."

"Yes, ser, she's truly glorious," I reply. I don't want to break his reverie by asking him mundane political questions on what he thinks she'll decide.

"But today will test her resolve more than any other judgment," he says astutely. Hmm. For all his puppy eyes at Lady Evie, and his tacit woes written all over his face, he still has that sharp mind that has earned him his place as Commander.

"How did you get him out?" I dare ask, knowing that Ser Cullen trusts my discretion anyway.

"Underworld dealings," the Commander answers, as the guards drag Blackwall-not-Blackwall near the throne. "The details of it are classified, but people are already talking about it—"

Thom Rainier's voice booms through the hall. "I know you put another man in my place. Hasn't enough died for me?"

Wow. Talk about airing dirty laundry in public.

"So much for secrecy then," Ser Cullen sighs.

"I wish there was another way," Lady Evie says calmly, ignoring the man's angry outburst. "Blackwall intended you to be a Warden. I will let them decide your fate—but only if Corypheus is defeated. For now, Thom Rainier, the Inquisition needs you."

"As you command," Rainier answers. And is that the teensiest bit of sarcasm I note in his voice?

I can hear the hall breathe a sigh of relief. Ach, that could have gone worse. I mean, really. Any other person wielding the power and influence of the Inquisitor could have easily made Rainier their personal slave, as an example of the might and possible corruption of the Inquisition. Or they could have Blackwall serve the Inquisition solely, a defiance to the other powers that be in Thedas, like the Empire of Orlais and the Grey Warden Order. Or they could have left Rainier at the hands of the Orlesians, and what a terrible waste that would be, for a perfectly capable man wanting to atone. But having Blackwall turn himself over to the Wardens after this Corypheus business is just a stroke of genius on Lady Evie's part—she's guaranteed goodwill from all corners of Thedas now. This definitely has a better aftertaste.

"Ellie," Ser Cullen says, "Lady Trevelyan would most probably appreciate some tea or other sort. You know better than me what she'd appreciate at a time like this."

"Do you want to join her, Ser?" I ask.

"That would be splendid," he answers, losing his big Commander voice. He smiles that lopsided smile of his that makes Lady Evie swoon.

It's a good thing that I have some Tevinter velvet cake ready at the kitchen, a new shipment of assorted teas, and fresh fruit from all over. Heh. The thought of the not-sweet-tooth Commander eating cake with our sugary Inquisitor always makes me giggle.

* * *

The Wardens are a real weird lot. When I first reported to the Nightingale that they keep to themselves, I meant it, they really do. The Blackwall-not-Blackwall affair would have set anybody else talking, but not them. Even over breakfast, lunch, dinner, beer, or whatever. Bah. They just eat a lot in solitude, train in solitude, sharpen their weapons in solitude. It almost makes me nervous that I'm missing something. Maker, I hope not. I'd hate to screw this up.

One day, as I'm taking first pick from the new shipment of fruits from Orlais, the Commander summons me to his office. Hmm. I take the usual tea tray for him and Lady Evie before heading to his office.

"Chef Ellie," he greets me warmly in his big Commander voice. I place the tea tray in a smaller table. "In between baking for Lady Trevelyan, spying for Sister Leliana, and learning about possession from Dorian Pavus, may I know if your skills include teaching others how to cook?"

"Don't worry, Ellie, the Commander's not going to ask you to give up your secret recipes," Lady Evie greets as she arrives in the tower. "Or cook for all our troops in the Hissing Wastes. No, you just have to teach some field personnel basic cooking techniques and quick recipes. For morale boosting, you see."

Ser Cullen takes Lady Evie's hand, presses it to his lips quickly, and resumes his professional mien.

"The Inquisitor does want her personal chef attending to all her troops' gastronomic needs," Ser Cullen explains, "but we'll be remiss if we do not care for our troops' welfare. Can you do it, Ellie? Teach about stews and soups mainly. Something to warm bellies and without the aftertaste of common grub."

"Certainly, ser," I say, quickly thinking about which stews and soups can be cooked quickly with what resources field personnel may have. Hmm. We have meats, definitely. But we _have_ to have potatoes. And salt. Maybe some sugar, too? And we can't go wrong with rosemary.

"Very well, then Ellie," he says, and hands me a list of field cooks who are to stay in Skyhold for a week.

"You can procure from them the list of available ingredients in the field, if you don't know it yet," he continues. "Do you have any questions?"

I shake my head and bow to the Inquisitor and the Commander before I go out. But because Ser Cullen talks really loudly, or maybe I just have really good ears, I hear him—"We found Samson's lair…"

Oh, Maker. The man who barely eats and sleeps, and whom I suspect has more than a wee bit of withdrawal problems, has decided he's going to storm into enemy territory. Even with Lady Evie and her companions around, I don't see that as a particularly brilliant plan.

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